


The desk

by Fafsernir



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands Week 2019, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Wings, honestly just pwp, no books either, no desks were hurt in the writing of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 14:24:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20583968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fafsernir/pseuds/Fafsernir
Summary: The desk was not meant to be repeatedly pushed. The desk was not meant for a demon to be sprawled over. The desk was not meant to have nails dig into it. The desk wasn't supposed to hold that much unstable weight.





	The desk

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Ineffable Husbands NSFW Week's](https://ineffablehusbandsweek.tumblr.com/post/187228656901/ineffable-husbands-week-and-nsfw-ineffable) Day 1: Wings / Celestial bodies / True Form
> 
> Thank you [Justafewthingstosay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justafewthingstosay) for beta'ing and helping me trust myself to start writing for this week :)

The desk was not meant to be repeatedly pushed. 

“Bend over,” the command – because it was one – echoed in the otherwise quiet bookshop. Well, almost silent.

The desk was not meant for a demon to be sprawled over. Yet, Crowley diligently obeyed Aziraphale’s words, bending over the desk.

Aziraphale groaned, his right hand squeezing Crowley’s hip while his left ran up his back, putting slightly too much pressure on his skin. Crowley didn’t complain. Aziraphale could feel how open he was, how gladly, hungrily, he took his cock, whimpering. 

He stopped his hand on what he had been drawn to, what had made him give an order in such a straightforward way. His own wings ached to get out, almost itching him. The thought of Crowley’s wings had aroused him even more than he already was.

He traced the spot where he knew the wings should be, and Crowley stilled, tensing under him.

“Let them out,” Aziraphale whispered, slamming into Crowley’s tensed muscles.

Crowley cried out, and his wings snapped instantly. The angel had to stop a second. He ignored the possible cut he got from the wings spreading so suddenly and so uncontrollably, and he moved both hands through the feathers.

The demon was the one to ask for their pounding to continue, moving his hips against Aziraphale. The latter obliged, slowly moving inside Crowley, slowly moving outside – but not completely out, never completely out – and slowly moving back inside… 

When he remembered that he had hands, he caressed Crowley’s wings. When he forgot he had hands, he clenched his fists around a handful of feathers, and Crowley cried out every time, and his hips bucked every time.

He felt his own wings wanting to set free, to spread wide, to knock some books, to offer him more balance, to wrap Crowley… He did not let them. He forced them to stay put, while he watched his hands grasping feathers strongly. 

He wondered if he wasn’t being too harsh. Then, Crowley was panting and letting occasional screams – or very loud moans – out, and Aziraphale saw pale fingers close around red hair. The hand that stayed against the desk also clenched on the wood that had not been cut and trimmed to have a demon dig his nails inside. If he was being too harsh, Crowley seemed to enjoy it.

Aziraphale let go first. Watching Crowley under his hands, so vulnerable and so open, holding his wings between his fingers, having that power on him… while he was also trying to contain his own wings, and while slamming rather forcefully inside Crowley… It was all too much, so much. He came suddenly, letting go of everything, including his wings.

They spread widely, hugely. They did knock over a book or two. Aziraphale didn’t care. He only cared about the hips still slamming against him, he only cared about Crowley turning into a whimpering mess as Aziraphale held on tighter, and tighter, and tighter to his wings. He had never held on anything so tightly, hadn’t even suspected he could do it. He could, and he did. And it sent Crowley over the edge within seconds, without Aziraphale ever needing to touch his skin. 

Aziraphale’s hands slid to the desk, letting go of the beautiful, dark feathers, at the same time he moved away from Crowley. The poor desk which had never been built to have two people have sex against it, but which was holding up proudly, much to Crowley’s delight as he caught his breath, his hand still gripping the wood.


End file.
